Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/719294.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Pandora_Hearts
  Relationship:
      Xerxes_Break/Oz_Vessalius
  Character:
      Oz_Vessalius, Xerxes_Break
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Canon, Drunk_Sex, PWP
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-13 Words: 806
****** Earnest ******
by Val_Creative
Summary
     Chapter 28-centric. Oz and Break decide the best way to forget is the
     good old-fashioned way: raiding the wine cabinet. Heavy, heavy
     BreakOz.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
                                       *
                                        
Uncle Oscar had not been lying about the drinks he had brought with him that
night.
Drifting above the coral-pink wine had been a splash of orange juice, probably
there to conceal the real ingredients for the ones who had inexperience with
alcohol, and Oz feels a little sorry for the people who had not suspected
anything odd about their drinks like the presently and severely intoxicated
Alice and Gilbert.
He places his nose on the rim of his pint glass, sniffing twice. The white
merlot wine—though having a bittery grapefruit aftertaste—has a tinge of what
he assumes is a caramel scent to it. How strange.
Oz wrinkles his nose somewhat. At the very least it has a smoother taste then
the nasty concoction of Russian vodka and several other spirits from the front
den Uncle Oscar tricked him into trying once the evening of his Coming-of-Age
Ceremony.
His tall, sober companion beside him pokes his own empty and cracked glass.
"Not very fun now that everyone else has passed out," Break sighs, staring
thoughtfully over his shoulder at the rest of the unconscious partygoers
hanging in various lewd positions over love-couches and arm-chairs. "A bomb
exploding isn't capable of waking them." He sighs again loudly, as if
disappointed, as if all the fun had been sucked clean from the setting around
him.
A bit put out by the likelihood that he was keeping poor company, Oz hmms,
picking up the upright wine bottle by his boots. "Do you want anymore?" He
asks, shaking the purple container at the silvery-haired man.
When Break waves him off, Oz takes several large, burning mouthfuls. The man
raises an eyebrow at him curiously as Oz gasps between them, color climbing
high up his features.
"You hope that earnestly to push your limits?"
Oz holds up the bottle to him again, this time smiling brightly, "Feeling up to
it?"
Intrigued and not considering being elusive about it, Break matches his record
up to eight. After going through the remaining contents of the bottle (and
perhaps a little more liquor in the cabinets of the sitting room circa.
SomethingMuchMuchOlder), Oz's limbs finally are starting to grow much more
relaxed and floaty.
The teenager's brain does not bother to process the time lapse to how they wind
up on the balcony stone-floor surrounded by the drained bottles from the
cabinet—not that it matters much in his drunken stupor that he is eagle spread
on his back, half hanging out of his coat, arms folded neatly to his chest, as
the stars fuzz and dance dizzily overhead. Or that Break appears a moment
later, about as gone as he is—settling to prop up on his elbows, gloveless
fists under his chin, flat on his stomach, and leaning over Oz's face to
giggle.
"How much do…you think it…would take to make us forget?" The silver-haired man
asks softly.
Oz's green eyes watch as the tip of Break's tongue touches his lower lip.
"Don't know what you are…talking about…don't care…" Oz replies, with the
unexplained desire to see that red, wet tongue again.
With the aid of Break's floppy canary-yellow neckerchief, he manages to pull
the upside down mouth to his, prying it open in search for that foreign and
delightful muscle.
Alice's sealing kiss had been dry and quick, uninvited—even if rather
satisfying. This summons a separate element entirely—as both males probe each
other with teeth and fingers and lips, fumbling to wretch free the tails of
collar shirts; hot.
A fragment of Oz knows what he and Break are doing goes against his logical
understandingthat he doesn't find men attractive, that nothing could be more
beautiful then the sweet young flowers with their long, dark eyelashes, and
poised, lady-like gestures—but unconvinced, it remains squelched by alcohol,
and enthrallment.
And the teenager is too far gone with his flaming face buried to the insides of
his arms, moaning, panting at every movement; on his exposed manhood weeping on
Break's jerking hand not holding Oz up from the cold balcony surface, as the
man sinks deeper into him at the next breathless thrust; on something as Break
accidentally hits it and Oz bites the skin on his palm to draw blood, to keep
from screaming anymore, and the lightning-rockets of swelling pleasure cover
him.
And Oz knowshe is sobering up when his body comes violently on Break's hands
and the balcony's stones.
It is enough to make him hard again when Break presses his face and hair
heavily between his bare shoulders at that last flushing thrust. And even when
it hurts a little, and strings of warm semen trail down Oz's thighs and legs,
Oz appreciates the brush of long, dark eyelashes that murmur against the sweaty
nape of his neck.
 
                                       *
End Notes
     Requested by bloody attraction.
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